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Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd
Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.
Word Count: 4.9k
Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons
A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!
“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”
Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”
“So you admit I’m funny!”
The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.
The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.
“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.
As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.
That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?
As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head.
Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action.
Just when you think you’ve seen it all.
The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.
"Is that Bob from Stats?"
It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester.
“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"
You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?
He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.
“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.
He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”
The wink makes your mouth dry.
Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed.
“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”
With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg.
You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.
“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse.
He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”
You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily.
“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.
A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.
Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.
By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.
“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.
Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”
“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester.
She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!”
As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”
Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.
“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.
Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch.
“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.
But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.
Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?
It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house.
“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.
At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.
Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare?
Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.
Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face.
“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”
Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats.
Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.
He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”
“And the hobby horse?”
He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”
There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest.
The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”
In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe.
His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?”
It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.
An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.
His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.
Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.
The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.
Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.
The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them.
“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself.
His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.
You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”
His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.
The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.
Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”
Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.
His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.
“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”
You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”
He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”
Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”
“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher.
You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.
Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”
Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.
“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”
His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.
You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!
“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder.
Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.”
The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.
“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you.
In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.
That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent.
An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.
Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good.
Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.
Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”
Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”
He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind.
His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.
“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.
One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right.
“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands.
He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses.
“O-oh!”
It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out.
The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light.
Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.
It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.
With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.
You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.
“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.
You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”
The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.
Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.
Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”
“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”
From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”
You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.
“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.
You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”
“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.
Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”
He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.
“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”
Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.
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brat summer and hot glen summer coming together
Natasha “Phoenix” Trace work
a little arrangement
summary: you admit to bob that you have a crush on phoenix. so he decides to invite her into your bedroom. 18+
Robert “Bob” Floyd work
a little arrangement
summary: you admit to bob that you have a crush on phoenix. so he decides to invite her into your bedroom. 18+
sweetheart
summary: bob is a total sweetheart when you decide you are ready to lose your virginity.
Request for you!
You have your bi-awakening while dating Bob when he introduces you to Phoenix. Instead of being put off, he invites her to your bedroom…
A little arrangement
Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader x Natasha "Phoenix" Trace
Smut under the cut! Mdni. Everyone feel free to send requests!
You've never thought too long or hard about your sexuality. You always had crushes on your Barbies, and sometimes your high school friends looked a little too kissable, but you always brushed it off due to your attraction to men as well. You liked men, and you didn't mind dating them, so why would you ever have reason to question your sexuality?
As you grew older, and left home to move in with your boyfriend, Bob, this question occurred in your mind less and less. You love Bob. He was the perfect gentleman, and he was always very kind and attentive.
You and Bob have been living together in California for 6 months now. You both enjoy the sunny state, and you are very content where you are. When Bob gets called to Top Gun, you share his excitement, and you celebrated together. What you didn't realize at the time, was that his front seater was going to be the most attractive woman you've ever seen in your life.
You had heard Bob speak very highly of his front seater, so when he invited you to their game of beach football, you happily accepted his offer.
When you got to the beach and stepped out of the car, you immediately complained about the heat. It was 93 degrees in California today, and it was extremely humid. You immediately took off your shorts and shirt so you could relieve yourself of some of the heat.
Bob leads you down to the shore to great his friends. You happily greet everyone. Everyone is very welcoming and accepting of you. "Where is your front seater? I'm dying to meet her." you whisper in Bob's ear. "She's right there." He whispers back and points to the parking lot.
You feel your breath hitch in your throat as you see the most beautiful girl in the world walking towards the group. The old, confusing feelings of your sexuality resurface the longer you look at her. She has a perfectly tones body, with beautiful brunette hair and gorgeous brown eyes. You realize you are staring when she walks up to you and Bob and introduces herself.
"Hi, you must be Y/N? I've heard so much about you. I'm Phoenix, but you can call me Nat." she confidently says as she sticks her hand out to shake yours. "Y-yeah! It's so nice to meet you!" you stutter out. Bob sends you a weird glance as you wipe your sweaty palms on your legs before returning her handshake. "Likewise, beautiful." she says, with a wink.
You feel your heart flutter in your chest as she walks away to go speak to Fanboy and Payback. Your entire face turns bright red as you realize how awkward you acted around her. Bob quickly notices your change in complexion "Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?" he asks worriedly. You brush him off as you blame it on heat exhaustion as you go to sit under your umbrella to watch the football game unfold.
For the entirety of the game, you can't help but look at how sexy Natasha looks playing football. Her disadvantage due to her height compared to the others does not stop her, as she quickly weaves through the sea of men with no difficulty. You desperately rub your thighs together as your eyes are locked on her bicep as she hugs the football. She scores a touchdown, and as she celebrates she locks eyes with you.
The rest of the night went very well. You didn't see much more of Natasha, because she was making rounds and talking to everyone in the room while everyone ate. "You ready to get going soon?" Bob says, and snaps you out of your haze. "Yeah, sure. I'm tired." you replied.
As you begin to stand, Bob pulls you back into your seat and whispers into your ear "Do you have a little crush on Phoenix, baby?" with a smile in his voice. You immediately freeze and begin stuttering, unsure of how to respond. He chuckles into your ear and says "It's okay, baby. It's totally normal". You sigh in relief as Bob tells you to go get settled in the car while he says his goodbyes.
As you get into the car, waiting for Bob, you find the ominous question back in your head. Why do you have these feelings for Natasha? Why does it feel so right? Your thoughts are quickly shut off when Bob hops into the car and slams the car door shut.
Before Bob can start the car, the back door of the car opens and closes. As you turn around to see who is in the car, you are met with Nat's smiling face. You feel your face heat up as you confusedly look at Bob. "I invited Nat over to our house for the night. I also told her about your feelings for her. Her and I talked, and we figured that maybe we could come up with a little... arrangement. Only if you're comfortable" Bob says with a smirk on his face.
Natasha cups your cheek and turns your head and locks eyes with you as she says "Do you want this? Do you want both of us?". Before she can even fully finish the question, you are already eagerly nodding your head with excitement.
Bob chuckles at your reaction as he starts the car and begins to drive away. "We can figure out the logistics of everything tomorrow, but for tonight we can just have a little fun, okay baby?" Bob whispers into your ear as he speeds down the interstate. The car ride is tense, so you find yourself getting nervous as you pull into the driveway of you and Bob's shared house.
Natasha opens your car door, and as you step out of the car, she grabs your waist and says "Bob and I will meet you in your bedroom in 5 minutes. When we get in there, you better be naked and on your knees next to the bed, okay princess?". You nod eagerly and rush upstairs and into your bedroom.
You quickly strip your clothes and eagerly fall to your knees, waiting for Bob and Natasha to meet you in the bedroom. A few moments later, Bob and Natasha open the door to see you waiting for them, just as instructed. They are both naked as they walk through the door, and you whine in arousal.
They both smile as they tower over you. Natasha puts her thumb on your lips and you open your mouth to suck on her finger. "Such a good girl. Bob, she's such a patient and obedient girl, don't you think?" Natasha groans. Bob nods in agreement as he mutters "She is such a perfect girl for us".
You feel giddy from the praise you are receiving, and Natasha retracts her thumb from your mouth as she orders you to get onto the bed. You happily get off of your knees and lay back onto the bed. Natasha climbs on top of you and begins pressing soft kisses onto your mouth. You happily return these kisses. Eventually the kiss escalates and she pushes her tongue into your mouth.
You feel yourself growing wetter as your tongues battle for dominance. Natasha presses kisses down your body until she reaches your tits. "Bob, eat her pretty pussy. Get our good girl ready for me" she mutters out between kisses and licks to your chest. Bob instantly agrees as he positions himself between your legs.
Bob begins with kitten licks to our clit as he inserts two fingers and curls them up, immediately finding your sweet spot. You let out a loud moan as Bob excitedly licks your clit with his tongue and is fingering your g-spot perfectly, while Natasha is sucking your nipples and pinching them in between her fingers.
The pleasure becomes overwhelming as they both enthusiastically please you at the same time. Your moans and whines soon become much louder, as you feel yourself being brought to the edge very quickly.
Just before you reach your peak, Bob retracts his fingers and tongue. You whine in frustration as Natasha also pulls away from your tits. Natasha mockingly strokes your head as she says "Aw, baby. You'll be coming soon, I promise".
She presses a haste kiss to your lips before climbing on top of you and sliding her legs between yours. Her pussy is just inches away from where you need her most. You let out a loud moan as she presses your clits together. Bob pants in the corner as he strokes himself at the sight.
Natasha rubs your pussies together with vigor. Your wetness easily aides her movements, and makes the pleasure more intense. Natasha strokes your sexes together aggressively and she lets out the most pornographic moans as she throws her head back. You take this opportunity to leave kisses on her throat.
This brings Natasha closer to her edge, and she begins moving faster, which brings you closer to the edge as well. You kiss each other, and moan into each other's mouths before you both come together.
Natasha pants and stills her movement before she turns her focus to Bob, who is a whimpering mess. His cock is an angry red, and his entire body is flushed. His hair is messy, and he has a look in his eyes of pure need.
"Are you gonna let Bob fuck you, angel?" Nat asks you as she gets up and stands beside the bed. "Yes, yes please fuck me, Bob. I need it right now" you whine out as Bob moves over to the bed and gets on top of you.
You and Bob let out a content sigh as he enters you. "Fuck, I'm not gonna last long" Bob groans as he sits back on his heels while he begins fucking you. Natasha takes this as an opportunity to give attention to your clit while Bob roughly fucks you.
Her lips attach to your clit, and your back immediately arches off of the bed. Bob begins thrusting harder and faster as Nat continues licking and sucking at your clit. You and Bob both let out loud moans as you come together, his cum filling you up perfectly.
Bob pants as he recovers from his orgasm, and he finally pulls out to watch his cum drip out of your pussy. At this time, Nat comes back from the bathroom with a washcloth to help you clean up. Once she has cleaned you, she helps you go to the bathroom, and then helps you get tucked into bed. Bob and Nat are on either side of the bed, while you are in the middle.
They both cuddle up to you, and you sigh in content. It is no longer a question. You have no doubt in your mind that you are bisexual. Your heart soars with pride at the thought. You give Bob and Nat each a kiss before you feel yourself drifting to sleep. Excited for the conversation in the morning about how you will be able to be in a relationship with these two amazing people.
send requests!!!
masterlist
hi! my name is liv, and i go by she/her pronouns. i am 23, and this is a nsfw account so mdni! i love getting requests, and i will write smut, fluff, and angst. i will also write for poly ships. everything i write is x reader.
my work:
- jake “hangman” seresin
- bradley “rooster” bradshaw
- natasha “phoenix” trace
- robert “bob” floyd
- pete “maverick” mitchell
- tom “iceman” kazansky
- rhett abbott
- others
if you request anyone who is not on this list, i still might write it, even if it is in a different fandom. so never be afraid to send a request!
when he’s dripping precum from eating you out
Thinking about Rhett, who isn't as big of a sex addict as the town of Wabang has chalked him up to be.
It's not particularly difficult to draw such a conclusion; between the countless times his momma has opened his bedroom door and gotten flashed by a woman she's never met before and all the one-night stands, it makes a lot of sense.
To Wabang, Rhett's just one of those guys. The town bicycle. Willing to follow anyone into a cheap motel room for a bit of fun, regardless of who they are, what they look like, or if he'll ever see them again. His buddies joke that he just can't keep it in his pants, and Cecelia's bible group whispers that the devil has his claws in deep.
That's not the full story; it's a tale that Rhett's been denying from the moment he realized it. For a period of time, he does manage to push it into the farthest depths of his mind, too weary of what acknowledging it may do to him.
But then you come along, with your sweet smile and eyes that glisten at the sight of him, and it comes rumbling right back to the forefront of his mind. His friends love to drunkenly joke that he must be having a hard time holding himself back, but it's not that at all.
To tell the truth, his sex drive isn't as wild and rampaging as everyone thinks it is; he doesn't have that crippling obsession with having a nameless face beneath him; in fact, his hand and imagination are usually more satisfying. It's always with him, no worry of another officer noticing his truck rocking, paying for a motel he won't stay in for longer than a few hours, or waking up alone.
But there's just something about the concept of people wanting to sleep with him. Man, woman, something in between; it's never been much of a concern to him. All it takes is that lingering, hungry gaze to get him weak in the knee, heart pounding in his chest. Too eager to fall into that fleeting feeling of being wanted, even if the sunrise dissolves it into the familiar, grimy sensation of feeling used.
In all honesty, he's not even sure what to do with that information; how does one even bring that up? What difference does it make?
You don't mention anything about it until after you go through a sudden period of wanting him multiple times a day, riding him before he goes to work, sneaking over on his lunch break, just for a taste, luring him in after that night's rodeo and then again in the shower.
It's to the point that even you are surprised that he isn't beating you back with the broomstick. An intrusive thought suggests that he's pushing himself because he doesn't want to tell you no. So you do the only thing you can think of; you pull out of an impromptu kiss and confront him about it.
And Rhett flounders.
Stuttering the beginnings of a confession that he doesn't know how to tell, tripping through every little word until it all rolls out in one jumbled mess.
"I likeitwhenyouwantme."
It's so rushed and poorly put together that he's got to grab your hand and press it against the bulge in his jeans, the only way that he knows how to convince you that he wants this. He loves this.
Piece by piece, it all clicks together. The way that his eyes always darken when you cradle his face in your hands and kiss him before he can speak. How easily he falls into tandem with you when you start whispering into his ear, or that time he went from yawning to nearly eating you alive, all from you pulling him by his tie.
You think it's something that will fade with time, but it really doesn't. It's a card that almost always works on him. One little look or the brush of your hand up his thigh is enough to have him falling into you.
God forbid you start whispering about how much you want him, the things you love about him, and how good he is for you. The first time you do it, he cums before you can finish licking that first stripe up the underside of his cock.
Nobody ever expects for cowboys to be whimpering messes in bed, especially not the champion bull-rider with a winding, blue-collar pedigree. And to be fair, he probably wouldn't be this way if you never took advantage of his weaknesses, but you just can't help yourself. It's a habit that you can't break, whispering into his ears or letting your wandering hands do all of the talking.
The only times he ever tells you that he's no are when he's at an extreme, injured from a rodeo, worked to the bone, or wrapped up in a horrible mood that he just can't shake. Even then, he does often seek you out when he's feeling better; there's just something about it that makes him so damn happy.
It's the intimacy, your hands in his hair and his name on your pretty tongue. It's the overwhelming fact that you want him and all of his flaws. Nobody else will do. He loves being with you, and feeling you, and making you happy.
It's the trust that you are willing to share your most vulnerable moments with him. The way that you treat him with just as much care as he treats you with. He's given and been burned so, so many times, but you treat his beaten soul as if it's made of glass.
There are so many better men out there, but of all those people, you've picked him, and it's something that will never not get his heart racing in his chest.
send top gun requests! i want to write something tonight
just found out that i need hip surgery, and i was wondering if you could write something with rooster x hangman x reader and them taking care of reader? including spending all day making her feel good after surgery so she can get her mind off of the pain ☺️
I’m sorry you’re having surgery! I hope your recovery goes well! There’s a little blurb for you below 👇🏻
“Are you trying to hit every pothole?” Bradley asks from the backseat beside you with a smack to the back of his head.
“I’m doing my best here, Roo,” he huffs, turning to glance back and briefly meeting your glazed eyes. “You okay there, sweetheart?”
“‘m fine,” you mumble, feeling out of it from the post-op drugs, “can’t feel a thing right now.”
“Good,” Bradley murmurs, kissing the top of your head, “the surgeon said the nerve block should last between 12-16 hours.”
“Mhmm,” you reply as you nod off.
They argue about the best way to get you into the house, bicker about the placement of the pillows once you’re in bed, and you fear they’re going to throw punches over who gets to rub your back first.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“Hey,” Jake tilts your chin up to wipe your tears as he helps you sit on the toilet once you wake up with a full bladder, “what’s wrong? Are you in pain?
“No,” you reply, sniffing, “this is so humiliating. I can’t even sit to pee by myself.”
He looks confused, “I’ve seen every part of you hundreds of times. It’s not a big deal. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, right?”
“You didn’t sign up for this though,” you reply, “and we’re not married.”
“Yet,” he says under his breath as he closes the bathroom door to give you some privacy.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“Stop,” Bradley says, holding Jake back by the bicep, “the doc said physical therapy is the best thing for her recovery.”
“But he’s hurting her,” Jake replies, “and look! He’s touching her ass!”
“That’s her hip. She had hip surgery. The therapist is going to work on her hip,” Bradley replies, rolling his eyes, “beside, you never complain when I touch her.”
“That’s different and you know it,” Jake grumbles, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest with a frown, “and of course he’s hot. It’s not fair that he gets to touch her and we can’t.”
“It’s only a few more weeks,” Bradley says, setting his big hand on Jake’s knee, “besides, she never said we can’t touch.”
“I know,” Jake murmurs, eyes heating as Bradley moves his hand higher and squeezes, “it’s not fair to her though.”
“Guaranteed she won’t mind,” Bradley replies lowly, “we’ll hand her the vibrator and let her watch.”
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw work
better than any other man
summary: you accidentally tell the group that no man has ever made you come. bradley is determined to fix this. 18+
masterlist
hi! my name is liv, and i go by she/her pronouns. i am 23, and this is a nsfw account so mdni! i love getting requests, and i will write smut, fluff, and angst. i will also write for poly ships. everything i write is x reader.
my work:
- jake “hangman” seresin
- bradley “rooster” bradshaw
- natasha “phoenix” trace
- robert “bob” floyd
- pete “maverick” mitchell
- tom “iceman” kazansky
- rhett abbott
- tyler owens
- glen powell
- daisy edgar jones
- kate carter
- others
if you request anyone who is not on this list, i still might write it, even if it is in a different fandom. so never be afraid to send a request!
I’ve got a request for you!
No guy has ever gotten you off before and Bradley overhears you saying you don’t get the hype and is determined to change your mind?
better than any other man
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader
smut under the cut! mdni. everyone feel free to send requests!
this mission has been hell. the entire group was exhausted and desperately needed a break and some time away from work. 4 days after they had gotten home from the mission, they decided to all get together at my house for a night of celebrating the successful mission.
the night had started off with talking about work, and everyones families... until the alcohol came out. once everyone was tipsy enough to be able to feel the alcohol in their system, the group decided to play a game of never have I ever. the game was going great, and everyone was laughing and having fun. until I let it slip.
"never have I ever had someone else make me cum" I said with a smirk on my face. however, no amount of alcohol could have made this admission any less shocking to the group. Phoenix was the first to break the silence. "are you serious?" she asked.
"well, yeah. all of the guys I have been with have been lazy, or not very good at what they're doing. it's just easier to do it myself, why wait for a man to do it for me?" I said, in an attempt to salvage the situation.
I felt a heat rising to my cheeks, and javy was very quick to notice my discomfort, so he changed the subject by continuing the game of never have I ever.
the night continued on like this, although I stopped drinking very early into the night. by 12:30, everyone decided that they've had too much to drink, and that it was time to go home. bob was the designated driver, and he was piling everyone into his van to take them home.
"i'll stay back and help y/n clean up" rooster announced to the group. "I haven't had anything to drink, I can drive myself home once everything is clean" he adds, to ease bobs concern. finally, bob nods and says goodnight to rooster and y/n.
y/n and Bradley walk into the house together, and move together in tandem as they clean the house very quickly. "is what you said earlier true?" Bradley asks as we finish up cleaning. I blush as I say "yeah, but its not a big deal or anything."
"no, it is a big deal. it's a really big deal. a pretty girl like you should have a man that makes you feel good all of the time. the guys that you've been with haven't deserved you. let me make you feel good. I can make you cum. I promise I can." he says confidently as he backs me up into the counter.
I gasp as his jean clad thigh makes contact with my pulsing pussy. "you seem awfully confident in your abilities, Bradley." I say with a smirk on my face. he then picks me up by my thighs and wraps my legs around his waist. "because I know that I can make you feel better than any other man can" he snarls as he roughly kisses me.
he manages to walk us into my bedroom and throw me onto my bed. I land with a squeal as he begins kissing down my neck and onto my collarbone. "is this okay with you? because if I keep going, I'm not going to be able to stop later." Bradley pants as he ruts his growing erection onto my thigh.
"you can do whatever you want to me, Bradley. I'm not going to change my mind." I say as he smashes our lips back together. he rips open my blouse and begins his attack on my tits. he leaves lots of hickeys all along my breasts and neck, as he whispers "I gotta mark you up so that everyone knows you're mine, baby."
he continues his kisses down my body until he finally reaches my jeans. he quickly unbuttons my jeans with his teeth, and then pulls my jeans and thong down my legs. "fuck you're gorgeous" he mutters as he starts an attack of licks on my pussy. he begins eating me out with enthusiasm and he spells his name with his tongue on my clit, while he stretches me open with two fingers.
his long, thick fingers and his skillful tongue working together are very quick to bring me to the edge. "oh my god, baby. you're gonna fucking make me cum. Bradley, oh my god! can I cum please?" I whimper as I feel my orgasm quickly approaching.
"come for me, pretty girl" he says with a grin as my body thrashes around while I come down from my high. while i'm recovering from my orgasm, he begins opening the drawers in my nightstand until he finds a condom in the middle drawer.
"do you want me, baby? I'll make you feel so good, I promise." he whispers in my ear seductively. I nod with enthusiasm as he swiftly. rolls the condom over his thick length.
I take this moment to admire his pretty cock. 8 inches with a bright red tip. I can practically feel my mouth watering as he gets into position to fuck me. he teases my entrance with his tip until I am a whining and begging mess.
without warning, he slams his entire length into me in one swift motion. we both gasp at the sudden feeling. "fuck, baby. you take me so well. you're so fucking tight for me." he groans as he begins rocking into me.
he starts with a slow pace to allow me to adjust to his size. "please, Bradley. give it to me. fuck me." I say to him. he grunts at my words and begins roughly thrusting into me. his tip is perfectly hitting my g-spot with this motion.
"oh my god right there, right there!" I scream as he continues to hit that spot inside of me. he briefly stops thrusting in order to grab my leg and hitch it over his shoulder, allowing him to thrust deeper into me. I throw my head back at the feeling.
"Bradley, baby I'm close" I moan out as he begins rubbing my clit to get me to the edge faster. "cum with me, sweet girl" he says as we both reach our highs, and moan into a kiss together. we both pant as we come down from our highs.
after a few minutes, Bradley finally pulls out, and goes to the bathroom to throw away the used condom. when her comes back, he immediately kisses my forehead and spoons me. "I told you I could make you come." he says. I giggle at his words.
he presses kisses to my shoulder. I smile as I feel myself drifting asleep, with feelings of pure bliss. I know that tomorrow will need a long conversation, but right now all I can focus on is the warmth of his arms, and the steady sound of his heartbeat.
hello!! i was wondering if you could write a sub!jake seresin x reader smut where he was being naughty during a night out, and he needs to be punished when he gets home? (mommy or ma’am as names preferably) you have total creative freedom with this and of course you don’t have to do this, but i love your work and you write sub!jake better than anyone i’ve seen ☺️💞
I…have no words. Dirty smut below the cut 👇🏻✂️
MDNI!
It had been a busy week. Between your crazy schedule and Jake’s, you had hardly seen each other, and unfortunately hadn’t had time for more intimacy than a quick kiss goodbye in the mornings. So maybe it was your fault Jake was acting out Friday night at the Hard Deck.
It started innocently enough. Jake would slide his hand in the back pocket of your jeans to squeeze your butt while you bent over to shoot pool, finish your drink (that he paid for) when it was your turn at darts, changing the song on the jukebox every time Rooster turned one on. But all was quickly forgotten when he gave you that cheeky little grin.
“What’s he up to?” Nat asks, catching on to your exchanges, “no good?”
You hum in agreement as you both watch him walk towards the bar.
Your attention shifts when as she talks about the new recruits that started this week…and how much of an asshole Jake had been to them.
“…In his defense, they are kind of stupid,” she laughs, as she takes the pool cue offered from Bob to sink the 8 ball, “but I think he forgets he was green once too, ya know?”
“He does,” you agree with a sigh, leaving out that he’s wound tight from nearly a week with no sex.
Your phone buzzes a moment later and the video attached from Jake has you choking on your drink.
He’s jerking himself with fast, determined strokes in one of the bathroom stalls.
You: Don’t you dare cum.
He reads your message as soon as you send it but his reply doesn’t come until a few minutes later, instantly making you realize what he’s been asking for all night by pushing your buttons.
Jake: Too late
Attached is picture of the evidence. His fist coated in cum.
A wave of heat washes over you before settling between your thighs.
You: We’re leaving. Now.
“I think we’re gonna head out,” you say casually as you put your phone back in your pocket.
“Yep, he’s up to no good,” Nat says to herself with a smile in her voice as you walk towards the bathrooms.
The squad had quickly caught on that by complaining to you about Jake will get his attitude adjusted. How it gets adjusted stays between the two of you.
.•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•.
“Give me your keys,” you say as walk out the back door, “I’m driving.”
“Yes ma’am,” he replies with a grin, dropping them into your outstretched hand.
“Smile all you want,” you tell him as you get in the driver’s seat, “you won’t be by the end of the night.”
“Whatever you say,” he chuckles as he fastens his seatbelt.
He has no idea what you have in store from him.
.•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•.
You bite the inside of your cheek to not smile as Jake begins to fidget when you don’t say a word on the ride back to your shared home. The closer you get, the antsier he gets; you can almost hear the turmoil inside him as he regrets his actions while anticipating the consequences.
“Go upstairs, and get naked,” you say quietly as you turn off the truck, “I’ll be up in a few minutes. I expect you to be standing with your nose in the corner when I get there.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says, finally accepting his fate.
.•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•.
Already wearing his favorite lingerie, you strip off your clothes in the laundry room before slowly climbing the stairs.
He’s doing exactly as you asked; his feet shoulder-width apart as he stands in the corner like a scolded little boy. His hands are folded above his taut butt and the muscles above in his back tense when he hears you enter the room.
“Why are you in the corner, Jake?” You ask, trailing your fingertips down his back.
“Because I came after you told me not to,” he answers.
“Mhmm, and?” You prompt as you pinch each tight buttcheek.
“I-uh…I kept changing Rooster’s songs?” He guesses.
“That too,” you agree, “to be honest, Roo’s taste of music is questionable. What else?”
“Ah,“ he nods as he remembers, “I finished your drink when you were up at darts.”
“Yes, but you’re still missing something.”
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” he says after thinking a moment and sucks in a breath when your hand slaps his ass.
“A little bird told me you were being an ass to the new recruits this week,” you say, slapping the other side.
“Fucking Phoenix,” he mutters as his head drops forward, hissing when you spank him again on each side until his skin is pink and warm.
“Can’t even take responsibility for your own actions,” you sigh as you turn to your bedside drawer.
He jumps at the click of the lube being opened and you smile as you step back to him. A quick look down shows he’s hard and dripping precum onto the floor.
“Hold yourself open,” you tap his ass with your clean hand.
He whimpers in humiliation but obeys, gasping when your cold finger begins to circle his hole. When he relaxes, you ease a finger in.
A groan leaves him when you add a second finger and brush his prostate; bumping it every so often as you pump your fingers to keep him on his toes.
He sighs in relief when you pull your fingers out. But it’s in vain, because a plug quickly replaces it.
“Fuckkkk,” he whines in a high pitch when you turn on the vibration on low.
“Put your hands back to where they were,” you murmur, kissing between his shoulder blades before you walk away.
You pick up Jake’s leather belt from his dresser on the way back to the bedroom after washing your hands.
You loop it around your hand and slap it against your palm, smiling at the way he flinches.
“I’m sorry ma’am, not the belt,” he begs, as if he isn’t dying to feel the bite of the leather, “I’ll be good, I promise.”
“Too late,” you repeat the words from his text back to him, “how many recruits are in this class?”
“12, ma’am.”
“That’s a good number,” you say, “assume the position, Jake.”
He shudders before putting his hands out in front of him on the wall before arching his back to present your target; his ass.
“Count out loud and thank me for each one,” you order, running your fingertips down his spine and making him keen when you nudge the plug before taking a step back.
The snap of leather meeting skin followed by Jake’s moan brings your simmering arousal to a boil.
“One, thank you ma’am.”
Fuck that’s hot.
The next one lands directly below the first welt.
“Two, thank you ma’am.”
You’re breathing hard by the time you’re done painting the left cheek red with four more slaps; he is too. His ass clenches as his hips thrust in search of any type of friction.
You shift to the right to start on the right.
“S-six,” he stutters, “thank you ma’am.”
The temptation to touch yourself worsens with each lash. Jake’s not doing any better; his toes are curling and his hands clench into fists against the wall.
“Last one,” you pant before bringing the belt down a final time.
“Twelve!” It’s a broken shout, “thank you, ma’am.”
You drop the belt and step forward to grip his fiery-red, burning skin in each hand and squeeze.
“Learn your lesson yet?” You breathe, kissing his trembling back.
“Yes ma’am,” he pleads, “let me show you how good I can be.”
“…soon,” you murmur, smiling at his frustrated cry before sneaking under his outstretched arms so you’re between him and the wall. You’d be trapped if you weren’t in control.
“Watch me,” you whisper, leaning forward to brush his lips with yours. His expression is desperate and hungry.
A drop of precum lands on your feet and he moans just as you do at the first brush of your fingers to your clit.
Your eyes don’t leave his as you pleasure yourself and when you’re on the knifes edge, you reach out.
“Wa-wait, wanna cum inside you-“ he protests but your grip tightens as you find your release with a soft cry and he cums too, painting your stomach white.
“You’re not off the hook yet,” you murmur lazily, trailing wet fingers from your release through the mess he made before bringing them to his lips, “if you want to cum inside me, you’ve gotta earn it.”
.•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•. .•*•.
I want a tall, feral sub with that "dom energy". Just this beast of a man who just looks so mean and aggressive but it's only because he wants attention. Pushes me down on the couch because he wants to cuddle on my lap. Manhandled me on the counter so he can beg to suck on my clit while we wait for the over to preheat. Crowds me in a corner to whine that his cock is leaking and that he wants to "grind against me really quick mommy, please". The sub where he has a naturally deep voice but it gets higher when he begs and needier when he cums.
Always says "I can handle it. I'm not fragile" but then is wanting to hold my hands while I grind against his prostate with tears in his eyes and drool pooling on the bed.
Man, I kinda need that rn
Kinktober Day 8 - Size
pairing: tom “iceman” kazansky x f!reader
cw: size kink, first time (fucking for the first time, not virginity loss), fingering, penetration, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise
word count: 1586
kinktober masterlist here.
18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI
-
You’ve never seen Ice like this.
Unguarded, loose, intoxicated.
You’re sprawled out on the bed in your dim lit bedroom. You’re not meant to be bound or anything, but your knuckles are white from gripping the headboard, bracing yourself as Ice spreads your legs.
The warm, glowy lamp on your bedside table illuminates the better part of his face; his lips are puffy and wet from kissing you, and there’s an eagerness in his pale eyes. Almost amorous, like he’s in a trance just from looking down at you.
It ignites something in you, a spark in your lower abdomen as his eyes rake over your lower half.
Ice slips his shirt off, tosses it to your floor and then works the button on his jeans. You let go of the headboard momentarily, just to sit up and slip your top off too, and Ice keeps his eyes on you as you both remove the last of your clothes.
Your arms naturally reach up to grip the headboard again, breath getting heavy in anticipation for what it is he plans to do with you.
It’s your first time actually having sex with him. You’d messed around for weeks, sure. His eager hand down your pants, yours squeezing at his bulge over his pants under the table at the O Club, making out in a bathroom stall to the point of dishevelment, but not sex. Not yet.
Ice nearly looks like he’s salivating, his lips shiny. Reasonably, because his next move is leaning forward and letting his spit drip down onto your cunt. You flinch as it lands directly on your clit, and then moan quietly when his long fingers reach in to smear it across. Your body loosens at his touch, but your legs twitch with every swipe of his fingers.
“Ice,” you whine, hips involuntarily rolling towards him, aching for more contact.
It seems that just the pads of his fingers are enough to get you squirming against your sheets. He watches with concentration as they knead at your folds, spreading you open and letting more of his spit drip down onto your slit. It mixes with your growing arousal, and it starts sounding wet as he rubs you.
Ice doesn’t take his eyes off his fingers, how long they look against you. He removes them momentarily, slips them through his other hand for a second to mindlessly analyze their size, and then looks back at your leaking cunt. His eyes flick to you, watches as you watch him, the look on your face when he presses his middle finger against your hole. It slips inside easily, your walls fluttering around it, eliciting a high pitched moan from you at the entry. You’re so turned on that you immediately need more.
“I–Ice, more,” you plead, trying your best to stay still for him.
He pulls his drenched finger out, inserts his index along with it, and watches intently as they enter you all the way to the knuckle. It’s then that he curls them slightly, and you gasp and groan loudly at how good it feels.
“I need you to fuck me,” you babble under your breath, squeezing your eyes shut as the pleasure courses through your body.
He seems to catch it, though, his breathing getting heavier at your audible request. He continues prodding at your G-spot, knuckles drenched and against your clit until he pulls them back just enough to slip in a third finger. “Bare with me, baby,” he whispers, mouth agape as he pants, watching your pussy stretch around his digits.
Your moans get higher in pitch, sounding more like cries as he stretches you open. “P–please.. Ice.”
“I need to stretch you—just a little more, baby,” he husks, lidded eyes momentarily flicking over to you.
You throw your head back against the pillow and shake it back and forth as you continue crying out for him. “Please, I need you now—” A strangled noise comes out of you when his fingers curl deeper. You continue babbling, “Don’t wanna cum like this, I want you to fuck me.”
Ice groans and draws his fingers out, bringing them up to wipe on his tongue. He uses the slick on his hands to wrap around his cock, and it’s only then that you lift your head to get a good look at it. Your breath audibly catches in your throat at the sight of it, hard and throbbing and incredibly large in his fist.
You knew he had to be big, had felt him from outside his pants but Christ, you realize now why he was taking his time opening you up.
On his knees, Ice settles between your legs as he languidly strokes himself. He looks dazed as he leans in to rub the tip through your folds, and then decides that he needs a better angle. He’s quite literally towering over you, and he needs you even closer. Better for him, having your small frame wrapped around him. It’s enough just seeing you underneath him, but having you close, getting to touch you, seeing how big his hand looks against your torso, he’s almost afraid he’s not gonna last very long.
Snaking an arm underneath your waist, he pulls you up against his thighs, your legs inadvertently wrapping around his waist. You’re still death gripping the headboard, holding onto it for dear life as you brace yourself for the seemingly bigger stretch.
Ice’s eyebrows pull tight together when the tip pushes in just an inch inside of you. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, sharp exhales spilling instead.
The tip itself has you seeing stars, and you unintentionally arch your back, allowing him inside of you another inch. Ice groans out, loud and hot, and then bites on the plush of his bottom lip. Attentive eyes fall down to the sight of his throbbing cock splitting you open—fuck—way more than his fingers did, and it’s almost dizzying.
He speaks then, breaking free from his speechless daze, “How does it feel?” he asks, serious but strained. “Tell me.”
You cry out as he slowly slides inside. “Fuck fuck fuck. So good.”
“Yeah?” His voice is soft; he sounds out of breath.
“So fucking good,” you reiterate, legs tensing around his waist as he pushes in more and more.
Fuck. You feel so deliciously full already, stuffed to the brim, and he’s still pushing in, watching ardently as every inch disappears inside of you.
He leans forward to hover above you when he’s buried inside you all the way, the veins in his throat throbbing as your tight walls constrict around him, squeezing him so good, like nothing else before. “F–fuck,” he moans through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, relishing in your warmth.
Your body feels slack as he envelops you, buzzing the way a limb does after it falls asleep on you. A sort of uncomfortable pleasure.
You’ve never felt this full in your life.
When he starts to move, you have to let go of the headboard and clasp a hand over your mouth to trap your screams. You can feel him in your stomach, the tip of his dick tapping against a part inside you that you’ve never even felt before. It evokes a hollow feeling inside you, like he’s reached something forbidden. It’s a different kind of pleasure, one that feels like a scratch you can’t get rid of no matter how much you itch at it. It licks up your body and paints your face crimson, heat in your cheeks when the sharp noises of his hips slamming against yours fill the room.
“Oh, God,” he moans against your ear. “Oh, fuck—so tight.”
You whimper at his words, at the pretty noises he makes.
“Look at you,” he breathes, moans slipping out between his words. “Taking all of it. Fuck.”
“Ice..” There’s a warning to your voice; you’re gonna cum soon if he continues talking.
Strong hands wrap around your ribs, and he angles his hips to thrust into you harder, deeper. It takes everything in you not to let go; you know he’s close too with how fucking drunk on it he looks, his face flushed and contorted beautifully.
He reaches his peak when he opens his eyes and glances down at your bodies, at the stark difference in them, at how fucking big he looks pounding into you. You cum with him; loud, uncontrollable cries meeting with his long, raspy groans.
Ice bows his head to kiss you, regretful that he hadn’t yet. He tastes just as sweet as he looks, quiet moans still spilling into each other’s mouths as the glow washes over you. He doesn’t pull out, in fact remains buried inside you to the hilt as he lazily works his mouth and tongue against yours.
He kind of wants to stay inside you forever, comfortable and snug there. He feels your body growing sensitive, however, your legs sputtering and your hips slightly pulling back, and it’s then that he pulls out. You whimper against his lips at the emptiness, your core left drenched and pulsing. You realize how sore your arms feel from grabbing onto the headboard, so you bring them down and over his shoulders, yanking him down atop your exhausted body.
Oh, he’s heavy, you realize. Right.
Basking in the glow together, Ice smiles, letting you breathe when he snakes his arms underneath you again to flip you over, settling you against his wide chest, arms enveloping your frame.
Will. Not. Recover. From.This...Ever
i think snoopy is my spirit animal.
the shark is named sparky. incase anyone was wondering.
i have been told recently that i needed to find a new hobby so i began drawing sharks. here are my shark babies.
do not steal my art work i will cry ☺️
i have been told recently that i needed to find a new hobby so i began drawing sharks. here are my shark babies.
do not steal my art work i will cry ☺️
i love top gun, both the original and the sequel. i am willing to roleplay most any characters so please dm me snd we can figure smth out! if you are also a top gun lover dm me because i love to talk about it, even if you’re not interested in roleplay ☺️💞